I put my arm down against my side. “What’s what?”

“Your wrist. Let me see your wrist.”

I had no other choice. I held out my hand.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Nowhere. I’ve had it.”

“No, you haven’t. I lost this a week ago—it was in my purse and then it was gone.”

“I didn’t take it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Sexanie and the Farha twins were now eyeing me, as if they’d known all along that it would come to this.

“So it just, what? Walked out of my bag and crawled around your stupid wrist?”

“Actually, your brother gave it to me,” I said, a feeling of power rising inside me. Knowing I had to give it back, I unclasped the bracelet from my wrist—my stupid wrist—and then set it on the chair next to Paige. I then sat very still, waiting for something to happen. You did what with my brother? Paige would ask. The other girls would gasp, a shocked admiration in their eyes.

“That’s weird,” Paige said, “because my brother’s in rehab.”

A feeling of dark unease settled over me. “He’s what?”

“I said he’s in rehab. In Oklahoma City.”

“Then, who’s the guy?” I knew I shouldn’t have said it but I did— there was no escaping it.

“What guy?”

“There was a guy,” I said, knowing I’d already entered dangerous territory. “Upstairs.”

“You just said you didn’t go upstairs.”

“I guess I was there for a second.”

“And you’re saying there was a guy up there?”

I nodded. “I thought he was your brother.”

“No fucking way,” Paige said.

“Who was it?” I asked. My stomach was starting to turn. Sweat ran down my back, where the paint was.

“Did he have, like, a gigantic head?”

I nodded—it was true, now that she said it out loud. His head really was gigantic.

“Dennis, Martha’s son. He used to come with her on weekends, so he could watch our cable and eat our food or whatever, but he’s not allowed in the house anymore. My dad caught him stealing some of Tucker’s clothes. So fucking gross. Like, get your own undershirts for Christ’s sake. It’s not like we’re paying Martha in potatoes.”

I thought of Tucker’s fingers in my hair—were they really Dennis’s fingers? And so what if they were? I didn’t want it to matter, but of course it did. A wave of nausea shot through me.

“So Dennis just gave you my bracelet? Or did you have to suck him off for it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said, although now it felt like I had.

“Right,” said one of the Farhas. “Because boys just give out jewelry.”

“Whatever,” Paige said. “Guess it’s time to fire Martha.”

“What do you mean? It was just him. She wasn’t even there—”

“Laney. There’s a million and one Marthas in the world. Get over it.”

I wondered, then, how many Paiges there were. How many Laneys. Meanwhile, Paige had pulled out her cell phone and was punching in numbers. “Who are you calling?” I asked.